


Hisana's Eyes

by Ragingstillness



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, I just had to write it because no one else has, Secret Garden AU, Song fic-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ByaHisa Secret Garden Musical AU. I just thought the story so very appropriate. Rukia is both Mary and Colin. Byakuya is Archie. Hisana is Lily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clusters of Crocus

_Clusters of Crocus_

_Purple and Gold_

_Blankets of Pansies_

_Up from the cold_

 

    The scene played out behind his eyelids, much too rapidly for his liking, disappearing as its subject did. Hisana danced among the cherry blossoms, freed from all expectation, in the purest form he had always wanted her to live in. Her dress that day was coincidentally the same color as the flowers that flew through the air like so many shreds of confetti and they blended easily into the fabric as they fell onto her frail shoulders.

    She turned back to him, smiling fit to shatter into peals of laughter at the drop of a hat. When he didn’t immediately fly to her side she skipped back along the stone path and wrapped herself tightly against his suit jacket sleeve. Weaving her thin arms completely around one of his she managed to begin the forward motion that soon sent him tripping forward and strolling awkwardly alongside.

    The eyes of his grandparents may have failed to touch on her shoulders in this moment but they still sat entrenched on the dips of his. It was a problem Hisana would soon fix. The day was much too rare, much too impossible for her husband to recognize it as anything but.

 

_Lilies and Iris_

_Safe from the chill_

_Safe in my garden_

_Snowdrops so still_

 

    She continued to pull him down the path. As they turned a rapid corner, slipping on the fallen petals and falling childishly into each other, a small circular section of earth opened up in front of them, the largest tree of all growing at its center.

    He shaded his eyes and took a chance to look up and obligingly the wind swept a whole slew of miniature origami shapes taking wing into his sight. His lips opened against his will and for a single second he so lost himself that his feet didn’t even touch the ground anymore.

    As he made to move closer to the magical phenomenon his footing gave way against the small fence of smooth rocks that marked the tree’s place. He fell and twisted around to break his fall, accidentally pulling his young wife down on top of him. The soil was so soft he barely even felt the impact and Hisana was no worse to be lying contentedly on her husband’s chest.

    She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled gently at him, as though this had been some sort of premeditated act of affection on his part that charmed the edges of her lips. He reached up and ran his index finger down the soft skin of her cheek. She closed her eyes joyfully and nuzzled into his hand. The angelic expression on her face melted off the last societal pressures that had been weighing him down.

    He set his hands gently on her delicate waist then turned her over slightly so they could both have an uninterrupted view of the magnificent tree. She giggled lightly as the hands he folded across her stomach brushed her ticklish ribs. The movement vibrated lightly through his chest and he found the corners of his mouth stretching, creating that barely existent smile that was reserved only for his wife.

    She set her hands over his then turned her head to the tree above. There were no words spoken but he knew she was feeling comfortable, smug, and warm just as he was awed, pleased, and very deeply in love.

 

_Ah_

_A’o jadu ke mausam_

_A’o garmiyo ke din_

_A’o mantra tantra yantra_

_Us ki bimari hata’o_

 

   Rukia bounced up the stairs slowly. Her countenance was joyful but her feet were weak. It had been quite the night of dancing and talking and all around spinning past the gossamer trains of expensive dresses.

    Her mother, Lisa Rensio, set a hand on Rukia’s back, leading her the rest of the way down the hall to her room. Her father Hafu was waiting by the door, pressing it inward in that funny way of his with both hands. He exaggerated his first step forward, letting his leg dangle in midair.

    Rukia giggled slightly then it turned into a yawn and her mother pressed her forward again, towards her bed. As she passed her dresser Rukia picked up her favorite doll then climbed into bed hugging it tight to her chest. Her parents smiled happily down at their precious little girl all curled up in her comforter. The party downstairs had passed into the kind of time accessible only to adults.

    They took turns pressing butterfly kisses to her forehead and fluffing her pillows then with two last “I love you”s they left to return to the party. Rukia fell quickly into a deep sleep, a smile frozen on her face.

 

_Mistress Mary quite contrary_

_How does your garden grow?_

_Not so well she said_

_See the Lily’s dead_

_Pull it up and out you go_

 

    Lisa was waved over by her best friend the minute she descended the stairs. Pressing a rapid kiss to the lips of her husband she waved him farewell. Her friend enveloped Lisa in a tight embrace. The two women took a moment to catch up and greet their companions then the red panels of her friend’s dress whipped back and forth as she snagged a drink from a passing server and handed Lisa her own drink. Lisa accepted graciously and the group toasted the party and its hosts.

 

_Mistress Mary quite contrary_

_How does your garden grow?_

_Far too hot she cried_

_See my Rose has died_

_Dig it up and up we go_

 

    The party continued for another couple of hours and Lisa changed groups multiple times. She even passed her charismatic husband as she moved, snagging a quick dance and a “love you Hafu” before getting called away. The time was nearing one in the morning when a servant approached Lisa. He pulled her aside and whispered the news in her ear.

    “Pardon me Madame but the Hadershines wanted to let you know that they were feeling slightly ill and are now resting in the side room.” Lisa brought a hand to her mouth.

    “Oh dear. I hope it is not serious. Keep me updated. Thank you.”

    She rejoined the group, her smile a bit more forced. A different friend in from out of town entered the group and quickly downed quite a few shots. When Lisa deigned to politely comment on it the man responded that he was oh so dreadfully parched.

    The groups of people began to thin as many decided to stay the night and retired early to their rooms. Many of them. It was unusual how their friends seemed to suddenly value their rest when every party beforehand had had them shaking the dance floor until the sun was almost at its height.

    When the ballroom was completely clear Lisa spotted her husband across the floor. She swept an exhausted hand across her forehead and reached out a hand for him, silently offering the last dance of the night to him.

    He swept forward, breathing harshly. Nevertheless he wrapped his hand around her waist and began to lead her around to unheard music. They danced for endless minutes, as lost in each other’s eyes as the first time they had met.

    Then Lisa lifted her hand off Hafu’s shoulder to cough into it. Her throat felt constricted. She stumbled into the next turn and Hafu recovered for her but much slower than he would have. His own face looked pale and exhausted.

    Lisa felt a ringing begin in her ears and her feet slipped again. Hafu tried so hard to catch her that he brought himself down with her. Their bodies clattered onto the center of the floor, the sunrise rays stretching out in the design as so many rivers of tears. The contact seemed to shake the house to its foundations but the only one alive to appreciate it was Rukia who stirred vainly in her sleep then snuggled back into the warmth of the thick sheets.

 

_Mistress Mary quite contrary_

_How does your garden grow?_

_Had an early frost_

_Now it’s gone_

_It’s lost_

_Dig it up_

_You’re out, you’re up_

_You’re out, you’re up_

_And out you go_

 

**Author’s note: I feel like a terrible person now. I put my dears through so much pain. This is for International Fanworks Day and Valentine’s Day. I felt this musical fit the lives of Hisana, Byakuya, and Rukia a bit too well to not be written. Please R &R.**


	2. There's a Girl

_Clusters of Crocus_   
_Purple and gold_   
_Blankets of pansies_

The morning dawned wet and slushy. Grey light filtered through Rukia’s previously thick curtains, made suddenly weak by the tragedy that struck the house, still as of yet unknown to its sole occupant. She sat up slowly, unconsciously delaying what would certainly be the most unpleasant news of her young life. 

“Mother?” She called out. 

There was no answer and the house sighed in response, pitying the poor soul. 

“Father?” Rukia continued. 

The house held its breath, suddenly too overcome to even spare Rukia some of its pity. Rukia began to crawl out of bed when she heard several heavy footsteps on the stair outside her room. They were definitely booted, and provoked in Rukia the singular memory she had of visiting an army demonstration. She pulled the blankets up over her knees and clutched her doll to her chest. 

The footsteps just got louder and then they were at her door. A muffled cough was heard, as though the speaker had his hand over his mouth. Then the door handle cracked and a group of men in white uniforms strode in. 

The first man seemed to not even see Rukia, his eyes already dulled to the pervasion of death. It was the second man who really noticed her and leapt back onto the toes of his companion with a yelp. The first man spun to reprimand him and in the course of the motion his eyes fell on Rukia, sitting upright and terrified in her crinkled bedsheets. 

“My God,” he murmured.

_Major, there’s a girl in here_   
_Do you mean alive?_

He approached her and raised a hand, almost as though he intended to discover tangible proof that she was not a figment of his imagination. She saw him coming and scooted towards the other side of the bed but the motion convinced him and he lowered his hand. 

“Who are you, child?” 

Rukia sat up straighter, and lifted her chin in what she hoped was an imperious manner. 

“My name is Rukia Kuchiki. Who are you? Where are my mother and father?”

_My name is Mary Lennox_   
_Why has no one come for me?_   
_Where’s my Ayah?_

_I’m afraid there’s no one left miss_   
_But where are my mother and father_   
_I’m sorry miss_

The third man seemed on the verge of laughing then remembered whose blood had already decorated his hands and turned the shaking motion to a running of his hand through sandy hair. The first man, who was obviously in charge, turned back to Rukia, meeting her eyes straight and even reaching out to brush the tips of her fingers with his own. 

“I am so very sorry Miss Kuchiki. We are from the army and have traveled to this house for a investigation of a supposed outbreak of cholera. I am afraid to say it was not as supposed as we had hoped.” 

Rukia’s breath came in short gasps. 

“How not-supposed was it?” 

The captain lowered his eyes and firmly grasped both of Rukia’s tiny hands. He decided to break the news as quickly as possible, hoping Rukia’s young brain would take it better that way. 

“The outbreak has thoroughly taken over this entire house.” 

Rukia’s hands shook in the captain’s so he gripped harder but the shaking spread to the rest of her body and she began to cry, small breaking sobs, with her little mouth hanging ajar and tears screaming down her checks. Her breaths shook in her chest. The captain moved to hug her but she curled in on herself, not expecting or wanting his comfort.

_Can it be a dream?_   
_Surely it does seem_   
_Like a frightful dream_   
_How can this be true?_

_Won’t her mother come,_   
_Come wake her up to play_   
_Won’t her father say_   
_“Here’s a rose for you.”_

Small shots of pain flew through her body, originating from her heart and pervading all other small extremities, only increasing her painful awareness of how very alive she was and how very dead everyone else seemed to have become. 

It was all so unbelievable. That she would never again listen to the cheerful bleat of her Ayah’s voice calling from the shadow in between the newly opened curtains, bidding her to wake. 

Never again would she hear her mother’s oh so girlish squeals as she burst into the room with her decorum left panting behind as she forewent it in favor of showing off a new toy to her only daughter. 

Never again see her father’s eyes almost disappear in the face of the power of his smile as he knelt to throw her over his shoulder and twirl around the gardens. The world just wouldn’t allow it. It couldn’t happen. 

Her hands rushed up to her face and she dug her nails into her cheeks. The pain got so severe the captain had to pry them away. She let him, the pain much too internalized to be deepened by self injury. 

After several moments she looked up the captain, the telltale signs of irreparable emotional damage already blunting her eyes. 

“What will I do now?” She asked. 

The old man looked painfully down at her, his brows creasing. 

“Oh, child, I don’t know. I simply don’t know.”

_There’s a girl who no one sees_   
_There’s a girl who’s left alone_   
_There’s a heart that beats in silence_   
_For the life she’s never known_   
_For the life she’s never known_

**Author’s note: This chapter has been quite late in the coming even though it wasn’t all that long. I hope you are enjoying this story. Please R &R. **


	3. Chapter Three

Archie, they’re asking if they can send the girl here  
It seems they found an old will naming you as Mary’s guardian  
This is no house for a child  
I couldn’t agree more

    The letter arrived much later than the news it carried deserved and the smallest part of Byakuya was furious it hadn’t arrived sooner. But that tiny fraction of his brain was near immediately taken over by the sadness that had coated his thoughts for several years now, only intensified by this newest tragedy. His grandparents, his parents, his wife, and now his brother and sister-in-law, not to mention all of their friends. Really, this cholera was worse than a war when it came to the touch of death. 

    Yet at the same time he almost wished the cholera had done its job and taken the entire party. This girl, his niece, she was in for a world of pain for the rest of her life. Forever would she have the memory of waking up to a house where her entire family was dead. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she never slept again. 

    The letter was written in quite callous form, reporting the deaths to the other living relative and informing him as to the existence of the girl. His intimate knowledge of heartbreak and the shocking heartlessness of the lawyer who wrote the letter left him in quite the uncomfortable situation. He wanted to be able to turn the girl over to someone else, someone with the experience in raising a child, and, if he was honest with himself, the emotional stability to help her through this hard time. 

    Eyes pierced into his back, as they had through all of his lonely years, so he turned to the waiting eyes of his wife, staring out of the gilded wall frame. Those violet orbs would haunt his dreams always and, if the servants were to be believed, the house as well.

Well, we shall simple have to find an appropriate school and-  
No, the girl is Lily’s niece. She will come here.  
And Mrs. Medlock, order the child some clothes  
I won’t have her dressed in black  
Wandering about like a lost soul  
That would make the house even sadder than it is

    His wife had been the kindest soul he knew, caring for anything injured or hurt, until, in her care, she neglected herself. She would have wanted him to take the girl. He met her gaze, calling out from his heart: 

    The house was so far away from a school. He could hire a tutor. It was secluded and boring. The grounds were large enough and the hallways dark enough to invoke the fancy of any little girl. He couldn’t raise a child. Of course he could, she had always believed he would. But he didn’t. But he will. 

    And so Byakuya turned from Hisana’s belief, hoping some of it lingered in his heart as he set the fountain pen to stationary and sealed it with his wax crest. He’d send the housekeeper for the girl. Maybe a woman’s presence at the house would make it less scary to little Rukia. Rukia. What a beautiful name for such a broken girl.

Mary Lennox, I’m your uncle’s housekeeper  
I suppose you’d like to know somewhat about where you’re going  
Would I?  
Well don’t you care about your new home them  
It doesn’t matter if I care or not  
Now in all my years   
I have never seen a child sit so still   
Or look so old

    Rukia stepped onto the platform with trepidation, her suitcase clunking down the metal steps of the chassis with her. The man and woman who had brought her, they of the sharp eyes and reams of paper to sign, leaned off the side to wave her goodbye, tears Rukia knew were fake gleaming in the woman’s eyes. It would have hurt, to know they didn’t care that her family was dead, if she hadn’t already been so hurt one more bit was a pebble on the mountain. 

    She sat up straight on the station bench in front of her as she had been taught, trying to not look around. None of the faces were familiar to her, people in long brown trenchcoats that had all been dyed by the rain to same nondescript shade, blurring as they passed her. 

    She concentrated her eyes on their feet, no matter how high her head was lifted. She was an exercise in contrast, hands folded like a lady but her bags stacked next to her so she could take up the least amount of space available on the bench. 

    The feet kept moving, flats and short heels and saddle shoes all alike. Then one pair of ladies walking shoes stopped in front of her. These shoes stood out from the group as they were still a dark black, not spattered with mud. They had ornate but not flashy gold buckles that held straps over the top of the woman’s foot. Rukia looked up into the weather-beaten face of the person before her. 

    The woman was midway between thick and thin, the dress hanging off her like it too couldn’t decide what size she was. Her hat was brown, like the dress, but black velvet on the inside and tied from the top to under her chin with a transparent white ribbon. 

    Rukia opened her mouth to speak but the woman cut her off, introducing herself as Mrs. Medlock, Rukia’s uncle’s housekeeper. Rukia stood, wincing as the displacement of her body caused her stack of bags to slump over on the bench. She held out her hand and shook Mrs. Medlock’s. 

    “Hello. I am Rukia.” 

    She couldn’t get her last name out, it was too close a reminder of her parents. Mrs. Medlock didn’t even spare the pause a glance. She beckoned Rukia up. 

   Rukia rushed to gather her bags then hurried after Mrs. Medlock, who had already taken off. She knew there was kindness in the housekeeper, but she wasn’t going to get it today. Mrs. Medlock was representing her employer, and from the little Rukia had heard about her uncle, he wasn’t one for kindness or much emotion of any kind. 

    Yet once they were in a carriage, heading out over the wailing moors, Mrs. Medlock asked Rukia if she wanted to know anything about her uncle’s estate. Rukia shook her head. She already knew all she needed to. It was large, it was hidden away, and it was barely used. 

    She dreaded her upcoming days there, sure the house would feel as empty as it did when she woke up in a house of the dead. The men from the army had covered her eyes and taken her out through the closest door, but she couldn’t avoid the smell, and the feeling that all the light had been sucked from the place.

High on a hill sits a big old house  
With something wrong inside it  
Spirits haunt the halls  
And make no effort now to hide it

What will put their souls to rest  
And stop their ceaseless sighing  
Why do they call out children’s names and speak  
Of one, who’s crying

Well you’re right not to care  
Your uncle certainly isn’t going to trouble himself about you

And the master hears the whispers  
On the stairways dark and still  
And the spirits speak of secrets  
In the house upon the hill

    Byakuya spent little time worrying about that morning, despite what lesser men would have seen as a momentous occasion arriving that afternoon. A little girl did not warrant any celebration, especially one who would only prove to be a detriment to his work. 

    A voice in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like the woman he refused to think about, questioned the nature of his work. There was indeed work to be done, distant foreign investments he handled along with payment of the staff and upkeep of the grounds but, said the little voice, what was the use of worrying about working several years in advance? 

    When one had little to do there was nothing to do but sneak in on your own future, stealing future occupation for your current self, leaving the stricken specter of your future lying on the floor, bored to death. If Byakuya ceased to keep stealing time from himself, he would be left with nothing to do but walk the halls, holding back the desire to wail like the wind when it shook the gilded frame of her portrait. 

    He heard the wailing all through the house, no matter whether he was near the portrait or not. It whistled down the back stairs, up through the maroon carpet of his office, and between the sheets of his bed, shoved into the corner of his room as if slamming one of its sides against the wall would make it seem smaller than it was, less obviously meant for two people.

He’s a hunchback you see  
And a sour young man he was  
And got no good of all his money and big plays ‘til he were married  
To my Aunt Lily?

She were a sweet pretty thing  
And he’d have walked the world over  
To get her a blade of grass that she wanted  
When she died  
It made him worse than ever

High on a hill sits a big old house  
With something wrong inside it  
Someone died  
And someone’s left alone and can’t abide it

There in the house is a lonely man  
Still haunted by her beauty  
Asking what a life can be when naught  
Remains but duty

    He hoped the girl would be unrecognizable. That the one time he’d seen a photo from her childhood would be a lie, that she’d grown tall and blonde, obnoxious and long haired, that she’d be in any way different, have become anything, but short, raven haired, and with shining purple eyes. Those shining purple eyes that haunted his dreams, that shone down from the portraits and whose voice sang through the halls, mixed in between the the shrill notes of the wails, overtones he could almost manage to ignore. 

    Even thinking of Hisana’s name brought back every note of agony he’d felt with her death. The few people who did contact him that far out in the moor hid their concerns in falsely sweet words that summed up to be an accusation of stubbornness, of an unwillingness to forget the love of his life. Only he knew the truth. That he was trying every day to get over it, to forget her, and that was why he lived so alone and why he was always working, always early, always busy. The moment he stopped, all of the pain came back, so he reasoned that if he worked hard enough, ran far enough, someday he’d reach the closure their letters all teased him with.

  
Is it always so ugly here?  
It’s the moor  
Miles and miles of wild land  
That nothing grows on   
But heather and gorse  
And nothing lives on  
But wild ponies and sheep

But what is that awful howling sound  
That’s the wind, blowing through the bushes  
They call it wuthering, that sound  
But look there, that tiny light far across there  
That’ll be the gate it will

    The carriage rattled to a halt when the slowly crumbling cobblestone road they were on gave way to mush made worse by the wind whipping around the light rain that had begun in the middle of the trip. Rukia felt pained to step out into it, especially in her best shoes, but Mrs. Medlock only greeted the mess with a small hmph before flinging the door open and ignoring the hand the driver offered her. Instead she slapped down a few bills into his hand, heedless of the rain that may have been landing on them. 

    Rukia expected him to be disgruntled but he merely nodded and got back to his front seat, eyes darting back and forth, sweeping the moor as smoothly as the bent backs of the reeds that covered the endless expanse. He saw something in the distance and flinched, then thrust the bags into Rukia’s overloaded hands and turned on his heel. 

    Over her burden Rukia squinted in the same direction and spotted a tiny light, surely several long, wet miles away. Mrs. Medlock saw her glance and jerked her head towards the light, setting off on a path only she could see, the wet reeds leaving long dark stripes on her brown stockings. They were so dark Rukia almost mistook them from dried bloodstains. She swallowed her disgust and the sudden death smell that had risen in her nostrils.

And the master hears the whispers  
On the stairways dark and still  
And the spirits speak of secrets  
In the house upon the hill

    The house itself rose out of the mist as though it had crept up on Rukia. There was nothing but a glinting gate, made of iron and dark, cream stone, then there was a house to match, a hulking mass made with much less windows than Rukia would have preferred. She thought there was a flickering whiteness at one of the windows, then it moved and she saw it was a lacy curtain, the only sign of civilized living in the entire prison-like building, for although it appeared old and rich it also shone as a beacon of loneliness to Rukia, as though it was trying to disappear into the moor and become a ruin the townspeople would speak of. Mrs. Medlock ushered her forward and Rukia went, but with a singular desire to run from the building as soon as she could.

Mary Lennox, this is Doctor Craven, your uncle’s brother  
How do you do?  
You are to take her to her room  
He doesn’t want to see her  
Very good Doctor  
There you are then Mary, good night

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please R&R, comment, or just leave a kudo if you like the story. Find me on tumblr @ragingstillness.


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